


Distance Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

by orphan_account



Category: All Time Low (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Radio Show Host Alex Gaskarth, Truck Driver Rian Dawson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:49:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20543399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Rian has been a truck driver ever since he got out of college. On a late night drive, he tunes in to a peculiar podcast on the radio. The host is eccentric in the best sense of the term and might make Rian a regular listener.





	Distance Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

The road glimmered under the ochre light pouring from the streetlights. The somber night besmirched with the brash yellow was a familiar retreat. The poles were planted a good thirty meters from one another, light streaming through the windows in an orderly time pattern. It would lull the occasional passengers to sleep, the nightlight above their heads like a halo.

Chipped pearl streaks methodically passed the tires as Rian kept his head straight, gaze strapped to the road. There was a presence in the corners of his eyes, bristled with agility. A deer, a rabbit, an ocular migraine, a phantom—a distraction he paid no mind to, for the time being. The cracked asphalt was strangely sloping behind the horizon, herbage and undergrowth evidently bending to fit the perspective. The trees forming a line parallel to the main road appeared looming, standing there guarded by monotonous foliage. But, there was some variation in the trunks' width, which was utmost refreshing.

Swinging on the rearview mirror were not one, but two air fresheners. Pear green, presumably bulk bought from a Dollar Tree. The pungent pine was a must-have amidst truckers, plus the cleansers brought back that "new car smell" that Rian loved dearly. His strong grasp on the steering wheel only tightened with the increasing cavities in the concrete. It was a routine route, every indentation confidential in a way. The cabin trembled, causing Rian to bounce on his buttocks.

The lonesome hours were starting to become nerve-racking. Rian's sleep schedule had been completely erratic for the past week. Tennessee was so unbelievably generous to him every other time, namely those early mornings at Stillwater in Centerville where the waitress knew him by name, but he cursed the state for prohibiting overnight parking. There came a point when Rian was clearly lacking his internal motor to go even a step farther than needed, fatigue weighing down his every thought. Not in the sense that he was drowsy, more so a mental exhaustion—wouldn't be the first time he got burnt out from chasing road signs with his eyes.

The bordeaux truck pulled up at an intersection and Rian checked for traffic before taking a left turn. The headlights irradiated a parakeet roadside sign, which indicated that the nearest rest area was beyond a five kilometer stretch.

"Five kilometers, my ass," he muttered under his breath.

Rian was convinced the distance on the boards never did match the perceived lengths. Farther than it should be, closer than expected, but never dead on. It was an elaborate scheme, a hoax by the government. And even if it wasn't, he found the concept pretty comical.

Not even an hour later, Rian was pulling in at the designated truck stop. The vehicle was parked in a secluded spot, the engine's roar ceasing. Somehow men's restroom rules applied to parking.

Rian sank into the backrest, the cabin vapid around him. There was nothing but a squalling silence, jamming the room the same way light would get trapped in a greenhouse. It gleaned from the outside, a distortion of the cicadas' shrill. The white noise pinched his skin like mosquito bites. Rian reached between the seats and hoisted his cold brew from the cup holder.

He resorted to filling the space with sound, the radio singing _Mr. Brightside_ into the cab upon being turned on. The negligible crackle to the music that had its own charm, the low volume, the claustrophobic comfort creeping up his back... Rian was sitting in the driver's seat, suddenly lost in a memory, softly humming back at the radio. It made him rummage through binders stacked with nostalgia in his mind, thinking that he was the right person at the wrong time to some. Songs that grow up and get old alongside you just have that effect when played at, funnily enough, the right time.

Nashville radio station 100.1. 1 AM.

Crackling and hissing in the air; static.

"Good evening, listeners. I would like to welcome everyone to our esteemed alien private investigation show. Whew, say that three times fast. I am your host for the night, Alexander Gaskarth. It is my pleasure to answer your burning questions about the great unknown."

The man had a liquid smooth voice, trickling into the gaps in the ambience. It was equivalent to two fingers, walking up Rian's arm with a prying thirst. The host could not have been more than a wacky guy in his late 20's, based on that voice alone. No more than a pompous string of words, an abstract riddle of an introduction posed without rationale. It freaked Rian out—but intrigued him, all at the same time.

"Crinkle your tinfoil hats, fine-tune your phonographs and call me to your heart's desire. Ah, and remember," he paused, the tension dashing up exponentially. "Never trust your eyes."

Rian blinked twice. The overarching confidence had struck him as bizarre, no doubt. The uncanny words leaving the man's mouth were grounded in a British intonation, greatly reminiscent of an antique tea chest. Inside, an abundance of tea bags stacked like folders in a file cabinet. That _would_ explain the faintly queer stench to his speech.

Rian scoffed, "Yeah, right."

But it did get him thinking.

And maybe, just maybe, Rian might have considered devoting his attention to the attractive guy with the attractive voice for the time being, which was impressive for someone who barely passed Astrophysics. Perhaps the urge to follow a space program can come from an outer drive at times.

There was this intense scraping on a hardwood surface, the microphone inadvertently picking up the background noise. Ah, the background noise. Existing at all times. An enterlude of finger fluttering and impatient tapping could be heard, from which the shuffling of papers ensued.

"Now, without further ado, we shall begin tonight's episode. You know how many space stories are here on this page?" He wobbled the paper in question for emphasis. "Five. You know how many stories I read per episode? Five."

Rian laughed softly, "Maybe because it's a show about aliens."

The host leaned closer to the microphone. "Maybe because this is a show about aliens."

Okay, that was a little freaky.

"Scientists are contemplating whether aliens are little green men, and are trying to find plausible answers to the age old question. Fear not," the man, Alexander, assured. "I am here to provide you with those saucy answers." A light, silly laugh punctuated the sentence. "Get it, 'cause—'cause flying saucers but also because aliens are sexy—

"Okay, obviously, the first thought that pops into your head is Alien, the franchise, but that's too pop culture for me to even consider as a serious contender. Star Wars has it all when it comes to space, I'm telling you.

"However! In science-fiction, the extraterrestrial beings depicted don't have to conform to anything. Life outside our perception could come in many, many forms. The takeaway is that these creatures are inherently inhuman.

"You know, I tend to stay awake at weird hours and mindlessly scroll through the NASA socials. I mostly know what I'm talking about."

The wad of papers was rearranged, pages rustling in Alexander's hands.

"This is unscripted, by the way. I'm just looking for my shopping list." he attempts to explain to the listeners. "Time for a commercial break! Our program does zodiac readings on every Sunday. Uranus is about to go retrograde and the Moon is in your romance and pleasure sector. This message was brought to you by astrology dot com."

Rian sighed, an amused smile on his lips. The radio captivated his ears, blocking out the melody composed by the katydid choir. He had grown to like the inconsistent blabbering of Alexander. Rian could even picture the man's gestures, but not him, never him. His deep, whiskey eyes began to meander. Soon enough, he was having a staredown with the vending machines near the gas station. Going in for a coffee refill was tempting, but it could wait a few more minutes.

"And now, our second news story. La Croix, cup noodles, sriracha..." Alexander trailed off. "Shopping list!" he exclaimed.

"Now, where were we... Right!

"In order to get to the Moon, astronauts leaving Earth in their shuttle must first pass through the Van Allen radiation belts, which disrupts radio communication and can potentially throw off the target path of the rocket. Which sucks major ass! Makes you wonder what otherworldly spacecrafts would consider a safety hazard when visiting our humble planet.

"Would alien telepathy require radio signals? Honestly, I'm all for wireless head talk. Seems like a better alternative to shouting from one room to the other.

"And, while we're on the topic of radiation..."

Alexander went on to tell stories and Rian listened to his every word. It was fascinating, the phenomenon, that is, where one person could perk their ears up and internally dwell on questions to ask the other, who remained unaware.

"I would like to remind everyone that the podcast's hotline is 1-800-473X, that is, 1-800-473X. Or you could text three alien emojis to my personal cell, whatever. Hit me up!"

Rian's handwriting could best be described as far from a graceful script, but it was luckily legible. The numbers got scrawled down on the back cover of a notepad, the one he used to keep in the glove compartment.

He thought Alexander a mystery, but with a lovely voice, and sure as hell a face to match.

Maybe he would call sometime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I follow the white lines / Follow the white lines / Keep my eyes on the road / As I ache


End file.
